Page 12 of Devilishly Hers (Monster Mountain Romance #1)

Chapter Twelve

B lair

The library feels different now. Maybe it’s the way the crystal formations cast their soft light across ancient texts, or how the air still carries that mineral tang that makes the space feel sacred.

Or maybe it’s because I can’t focus on anything except yesterday’s kiss in the infirmary—how Dante’s tail curled so tightly around my waist, how his temperature spiked under my fingers, how he tasted wild and slightly dangerous when he finally pressed his lips to mine.

Even now, my skin tingles at the memory of being wrapped in his wings, sheltered from the world in our own private sanctuary.

Focus, Blair. I’m here for research, not daydreaming about a Jersey Devil’s kiss.

But the ancient text before me only makes matters worse. My finger traces over a passage about cryptid bonding behaviors that’s making my heart race in a most unscientific manner:

“When the rare connection forms between compatible souls, physical responses manifest beyond conscious control—shared temperature fluctuations, heightened awareness of proximity, instinctive collection of items carrying the other’s essence…”

Collection of items. The phrase catches me like a hook.

Suddenly, all those missing possessions over the past weeks form a pattern I can’t ignore—hair ties vanishing from my workstation, my favorite pen disappearing, a lab coat I was certain I’d hung by the door.

Things I’d attributed to my own absentmindedness during intense research sessions.

It takes a moment for an even more thunderous awareness to strike me. Is that why I picked up one of his shed scales? It couldn’t be possible that this otherworldly… connection could go both ways? Could it?

“These ancient texts contain fascinating references to physiological connections between certain cryptids,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice steady as Dante reaches past me to retrieve another volume.

His chest brushes my shoulder, sending electricity racing through my nerve endings.

“Though many of the terms seem deliberately obscure.”

“These older dialects often obscure their meaning.” That rough edge to his voice makes my pulse quicken. It’s the same tone he used when he spoke during our kiss. “Particularly around more… sensitive subjects.”

“Like why some beings might experience unusual physical responses around specific individuals?” The words emerge more breathless than intended as his tail brushes my ankle.

“Perhaps.” His skin darkens beautifully. “Or why certain… compelling behaviors might manifest between them.”

My scientific mind whirs wi th connections forming too rapidly to dismiss. “Like your temperature rising precisely 2.3 degrees whenever you’re within three feet of me? Or how we both always seem to know when the other is approaching, even before any audible cues?”

His tail freezes mid-motion, then curls tightly against his leg. “You’ve been measuring that?”

“Of course I have,” I reply, unable to suppress a small smile at his surprise. “I measure everything. It’s what I do.”

“And what other… measurements have you been collecting, Doc?” His attempt at casual curiosity fails spectacularly as his skin shifts through deepening crimson shades.

“Physiological responses to proximity. Sleep quality metrics in relation to distance. Healing rates of your wing in direct correlation to duration of contact during treatment.” I tick off the data points on my fingers.

“The patterns are statistically significant and consistent enough to warrant further investigation.”

His wing twitches slightly. “Just scientific curiosity?”

“Initially,” I admit, surprising myself with my candor. “But science requires following evidence wherever it leads, even when the conclusions are… unexpected.”

His movements falter as I examine the ancient text, his tail suddenly stilling against the floor. When I look up, I catch his expression—a revealing mixture of guilt and defiance that connects several puzzling dots in my mind.

“You’ve been collecting things that belong to me, haven’t you?” I ask, moving toward his desk with deliberate casualness as my heart races with realization. “My missing pens, that lab coat that disappeared after you walked me to dinner last Thursday… all the little items I thought I’d misplaced.”

His tail lashes with such sudden force it knocks a book from the nearby shelf. “I don’t know what you’re—” The lie dies on his lips as my eyebrow arches in perfect scientific skepticism. “Fine. Yes.”

“Why?” I’m not sure why I ask, because I think I just read the explanation in a book about mate bonds.

“Because they smell like you,” he blurts, then immediately looks like he wants to sink through the floor. “I mean… that is…”

“Fascinating,” I whisper, taking a step closer. “The ancient texts mention olfactory triggers as part of bonding behaviors. Subjects collect items carrying the other’s scent as both comfort mechanism and territorial marking.”

“I’m not a ‘subject,’ Blair,” he growls, but there’s no real heat behind it. “And please don’t tell me you have a spreadsheet titled ‘Jersey Devil Hoarding Patterns.’”

“Of course not,” I reply primly. “It’s called ‘Proximity-Triggered Collection Behaviors in Cryptid Bonding Scenarios.’” The surprised laugh that escapes him makes my heart flutter in a way no scientific instrument could measure.

The humor fades away as our gazes lock for long moments. As though he just made a big decision, he glances at the bottom drawer—the one he always guards so carefully. Af ter a long moment, his skin shifts through shades of uncertainty, and he murmurs, “Maybe… maybe you should look in there.”

When I hesitate, he adds softly, “Please. I need you to see.”

The vulnerability in his voice stops me cold. This isn’t just about missing pens or stolen lab coats. This means something to him—something profound enough to strip away his usual sarcastic armor.

With trembling fingers, I open the drawer at his invitation. “Blair, I can explain…”

Inside, I find a treasure trove of familiar items. Hair ties. Notes written in my handwriting. Small trinkets I’d assumed were simply misplaced. Each item carefully arranged, some bearing signs of being handled often.

“Oh,” is all I can manage, the single syllable completely inadequate to express the storm of emotion sweeping through me. This isn’t random collecting or casual theft. Each item has been carefully preserved, almost… cherished.

“It’s ridiculous, I know,” he says, voice rough with embarrassment. “Hoarding your belongings like some primitive creature. I tried to stop. I just… couldn’t.”

Reaching into the drawer, my fingers tremble slightly as I touch a hair tie I distinctly remember losing weeks ago. “It’s not ridiculous,” I whisper. “It’s confirmation.”

“Confirmation?” The confusion in his voice makes me look up.

“I’ve been researching what’s happening to us. There’s a name for it in those old books.”

“A mate bond,” he says, the words emerging like they’re being pulled from somewhere deep inside him.

My breath catches. “Yes. Exactly that.” Hearing him name it makes it suddenly, undeniably real. “I’ve been researching it for weeks, documenting all the signs—our synchronized temperature fluctuations, the awareness of each other’s presence, the physical discomfort when separated too long…”

“Wait.” His tail freezes mid-lash. “You knew? All this time?”

“I suspected,” I correct, precise even in emotional moments. “The evidence was compelling but inconclusive without… this.” I gesture to the drawer of collected items. “The final behavioral marker confirming the hypothesis.”

I pause as a thousand thoughts fly through my mind. That is followed by a storm of emotions as I register what this means.

“You’ve been hoarding my things.” The words come out soft, with wonder rather than accusation.

“I…” His skin darkens at the simple truth. “Yes.”

“And I’ve been cataloguing physiological responses, collecting data on our synchronized symptoms, and secretly tracking our mutual awareness of each other.” A small laugh escapes me. “We’ve both been studying this connection, just with different methodologies.”

Something shifts in his exp ression, vulnerability giving way to a crooked smile that makes my heart stutter. “So, what you’re saying is, we’re both ridiculous.”

“I prefer ‘scientifically thorough,’” I counter, feeling a smile tug at my own lips.

“Of course you do.” His tail uncurls slightly from its defensive position. “Always the scientist.”

“And you’re always deflecting,” I say, stepping closer. “Even when it’s something as significant as a mate bond forming between us.”

He lets out a rough breath, half-laugh, half-confession. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly easy to admit my biology’s gone rogue—deciding you’re my perfect match, making me steal your hair ties and spike a fever whenever you’re nearby.”

Despite the humor, there’s a raw honesty beneath his words.

“Seemed like the kind of thing that might make a rational scientist bolt.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” The words come out before I can second-guess them. I take another step, closing the space between us.

He gives a crooked smile, voice edged with disbelief. “Sure. Just a normal day in cryptid mountain—stealing your stuff because my instincts have apparently decided you’re mine .”

That last word comes out in a low, possessive growl that sends a ripple of heat through me.

“Funny,” I murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound so crazy.”

I reach int o my pocket, my fingers closing around something I’ve been carrying for days. “I’m not exactly innocent in this… bonding behavior, either.”

His head tilts slightly, curiosity evident in the way his wings shift. “What do you mean?”